


Scotch and a Side of Scot

by Selmak



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drinking, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-08 22:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selmak/pseuds/Selmak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson and Fitz share a bottle of scotch. Post Magical Place. A bit of UST if you squint (and need bifocals)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Scotch and a side of Scot

There was an eerie calm on the bus after Agent Hand and her thousands of cronies disembarked. It was the eerie calm that Leopold Fitz remembered all too well from his childhood, a calm that could break and turn into a tumulus storm that overwhelmed everyone in its path. And Leo remembered all too well, his mum's whispered pleas for Leo to be a good boy, to not piss off Da. He kept his mouth shut when he was a child, now that he was older; he was reluctant to open his mouth for fear of disturbing the peace.

"He's very quiet," Jemma Simmons whispered to her concerned coworkers. "Very internalized."

"What should we do? What should we say," Skye whispered.

"Let him breath. Let him process everything. Don't overwhelm him," May quietly stated. "When he wants to talk to someone, he'll let you know."

Since Melinda May was the walking, talking poster child of Post Traumatic Stress, Leo relaxed, because of all the people on the bus that Phil Coulson would pick to talk with, he would be the last. Coulson was tight with May and Skye. Ward was in bloody awe of Coulson and Jemma... Jemma was a lovely, lovely lass who was very comforting and reassuring to people who were frightened and uncertain.

Then there was poor Leo Fitz, picked last for everything, except for science projects. Poor Leo, socially awkward, who wore plaid shirts and loud ties and who had never really spoken to Coulson about anything besides work.

"He's coming here," Ward whispered, so the group all tried to look innocent. They failed as Coulson just stared at them when he entered the room, as though he was measuring them, looking for something that only he could see. Their team lead appeared haunted and drained, the bruises on his face accenting how he seemed to be holding himself together only by sheer strength of will.

"Fitz," the bruised specter that looked like Phil Coulson announced. "Office."

Coulson turned and walked away even while everyone looked at Fitz.

The young Scot just shrugged his shoulders.

-=-

Leo reluctantly entered Coulson's office, most assuredly uncertain of why he was here. Why he had been selected when there were so many more deserving and certainly better qualified candidates to be Coulson's confessor downstairs?

There was a table with two chairs and two glasses. Phil nodded his head in acknowledge and spoke, "I won a bottle of Macallan 25 year old scotch in a poker game. I was saving it for a special occasion, and I haven't opened it. Tonight it will be opened. Tonight's special occasion is that I plan on drinking myself into blessed, sweet oblivion. However, it would be a crime not to share it with someone who would appreciate it."

He opened the bottle and poured. Then he handed one glass to Fitz, saluted him with the other and then drank. Then Phil Coulson poured himself another drink before he sat down in the chair.

"Plus, you don't talk. You're quiet and I am completely talked out about everything that has happened to me."

All the while, he was rubbed his head with his left hand as though he was searching for something.

Fitz took a slow sip in order to savor the taste, before he smiled. "Thank you, this is excellent Scotch."

That was probably something safe... something sane... to say to Phil Coulson who seems to be on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Phil nodded even as he finished his second glass. He drank his Scotch not like a man who savored the finest things in life, but as a very quiet man who was determined to be unconscious as expeditiously as possible. After Phil finished his third glass before Fitz had refilled his drink, Phil spoke, "I asked Simmons for something to let me sleep. She wouldn't give me anything as she was concerned about the after affects of the device mixed with a sedative. You hid the vial for the nightnight gun so I couldn't even use that."

The body that spoke looked like Phil Coulson, but the voice was a hollow.... dead... impersonation of Coulson.

"I want just to sleep and not to dream of Tahiti or chain saws."

Fitz didn't know what to say, so instead he held out his glass for a refill.

By his seventh glass, Coulson was still upright, much to Fitz's surprise. However, the normally impeccably dressed Coulson was rumpled and his tie was pulled loose from around his neck. His hair was messy and he was still rubbing his head.

"Question," he slurred. "If say.... your best friend in the world, had your head cut off... so they could... use an alien device to poke your brain.... and it hurt like a mother fucking bitch, .... while you screamed and screamed for death, would you be angry?"

"I think I would be," Fitz admitted.

"I'm pissed," Coulson admitted. He took a long swallow and stared at the empty glass. "Bastard could have slipped in a hair transplant."

Fitz didn't know what to say.

"Bastard said it wasn't covered in my accidental death policy." Coulson barked a laugh which turned into body shaking tremors. "I was dead and they brought me back. I was dead for days... weeks.... and they brought me back. I'm fucking Coulsenstein. "

He drank his eighth glass... eighth... how the hell could he be on his eight glass and still be talking? Coulson reached for the bottle; however Fitz removed it from his range.

"I want my bottle of Lethe back, please," Coulson slurred.

"Go to bed," Fitz said. Really, he had no idea on how to handle the current situation. Keeping his mouth shut and letting Coulson lead the conversation had led to this!

"I can't, because I will dream, Fitz. Of saws and blades, of goddamn blue and.... the pain... I remember everything.... about what they did to me. How I begged for dead and they wouldn't.... wouldn't..."

Coulson is unraveling in front of him, and Fitz doesn't know how to handle it. However, more Scotch is not the answer.

"Let me help you to bed, Coulson," Fitz repeated. "Help you change for bed."

Yes. Coulson was physically and emotionally exhausted and sleep would help his problem. Yes, Fitz would help him to bed, which would be limited to propping Coulson in the left lateral recumbent position, after removing his tie and jacket.

"That an offer, Leo?" Phil asked. "I thought Ward was more your type."

Leo's face burned, as he had tried to keep his preferences personal. Simmons knew and that was it, but everything thought he and Simmons were together, so it was enough.

"He's not," Leo admitted.

"How about a really drunk old man?" Coulson asked plaintively. He looked so utterly despondent and lost that Fitz sighed. His first proposition in years, and Phil was absolutely stinking polluted. Plus straight to boot.

"Go to bed, Coulson."

"I'm bi," Coulson hopefully added as he staggered to his bed where he promptly collapsed. "I am."

"Come on," Fitz protested. "Bed."

"Stay with me? Won't do anything?"

Fitz bit his lip so he wouldn't laugh, but he couldn't help retorting, "Oi! You think I'll fall for that?"

However, a drunken Coulson had finally become one with his inner self, and was sleeping soundly, so Fitz sighed. He pulled the covers over the senior agent but he pulled off his shoes at least. It was looking to be a long night, as he'd be sleeping in a chair as he couldn't leave Coulson alone.

Not after Ossetia.

Not when Coulson was in the need of his own recovery mission.

"Good night, Phil. Tonight, let me watch over you."


	2. 2

Fitz wakes and he realizes that he’s in Coulson’s bed. Fully clothed, fortunately, and he’s on top of the bedspread, but there’s a quilt over him.  Coulson puts on his armor, his suit and tie, in order to face the day.

He doesn’t look like he drank Fitz under the table.  No, the mask has been reapplied, but carefully, as the facade has cracks.

There’s a softer knock on the door and Fitz jumps because well, he’s in Coulson’s bed. Fully dressed. On top of the bedspread, but he doesn’t remember how he got there.

“I put you there,” Coulson explains. “The chair is uncomfortable.”

The knocking continues but softer.

“Come in,” Coulson announces.

Agent May walks in carrying a bottle. She ignores Fitz in Coulson’s bed, as though it’s an everyday occurrence and hands the liter bottle to Coulson. She also gives him Tylenol.

“Drink it all. I’ll have the Hangover Special ready for you in fifteen minutes.” May announces and then disappears.

Coulson opens the Tylenol bottle, puts a bunch in his hand before swallowing them. He drinks the drink and grimaces after he finishes it.

“Hair of the dog. Get up, May rarely makes breakfast and it’s worth it when she does,” Coulson orders before he leaves the room. “Lock up when you leave.”

-=-

It’s awkward leaving Coulson’s office as the spiral staircase is being stalked by his concerned team members.   Fitz flushes, as it feels like he’s doing the walk of shame, as he is wearing the same clothes as last night. However, Skye gives him an unexpected hug.

“I’m so glad you were there for him last night,” she says.

“We just shared a bottle of scotch,” protests Fitz. “Really good scotch but that’s it.”

Ward gives him an approving head nod and then Jemma hugs him too.

“Go have breakfast,” she orders. “Later on, you’ll have to tell us what we can do to help him. I’m so chuffed; what with you helping Coulson through this.”

Him? Leopold Fitz, world renown for his lack of empathy.  No social skills. He’s an engineer, not an Agony Auntie.

-=

“Fury’s arriving later today,” May informs Coulson. He nods and takes a gulp of his coffee. “Phil, drinking...”

“Didn’t drink alone,” he reminds her. “Fitz was there. He put me to bed while he slept on a chair.”

She nods and then she puts a heaping plate of eggs, refried beans, tortillas, avocados and cheese in front of him.  “One hangover special for you.”

“Heuvos Rancheros,” he says in a cheerful tone. May’s heart breaks, as he tries too hard to be the Old Phil. “Does my cardiologist know that you’re making me this? Oh, wait, I have a new heart.”

His hands shake and his face grows bleak.

“I need to hold it together, Melinda. I can’t let them know how unhinged I am. They’ll take this from me,” he softly whispers. “Fury gave me the plane, the team, fake Tahiti memories to make me want to live and he’ll take it back if I start to crack.”

“I’ll help you,” she says. “Now, eat. I told the kids you’re eating breakfast in private today. Else they’d swarm you.”

He twitches even while she mixes up another batch of her hangover cure.

“He probably doesn’t need it. He’s Scottish, which is why I picked him, plus he didn’t drink as much as me,” Phil quips. There’s another reason why he picked Fitz, because Fitz keeps his mouth shut.  He knows that because Fitz has never mentioned meeting Phil Coulson on Bell’s Bridge a life time ago. And in Coulson’s current condition, he’d much prefer if Fitz’s psyche kept it that way.

When Fitz enters the room, Phil continues in a very dry tone, “Betcha didn’t know I was a screamer.”

He remembers screaming. A lot. Last night.  In response, May rolls her eyes.  It surprises him that her eyes have never popped out of her head and rolled on the floor in order to glare balefully at him. She puts Tylenol and the hangover cure in front of Fitz. “Have some,” she orders with her unique Mama May Bear compassion.

“What is it?” the engineer asks.

“May’s hangover cure,” Coulson explains. “Best to chug it.”

Fitz does and then gags. “Taste like piss.” He flushes when he realizes what he’s said in front of the two senior agents.

“I always thought it had a hint of battery acid,” Phil quips. “Hot sauce?”

When he’s done eating, he does the dishes, as it’s only fair. Fitz hands him his dishes and Coulson says, “Thank you.”

Fitz is a smart kid. He understands what Phil is thanking him for. Not for helping him with the dishes, but for listening to him last night.

-=-

That afternoon, Nick Fury comes to Coulson, because the Mountain refuses to go to Fury. Much is said on both sides; tearing and straining their friendship, their brotherhood... until Coulson shuts down.  Cold.

“Cheese,” Nick says in a tone that could only be described as begging. “I couldn’t lose my one good eye.”

It takes Phil far too long to respond.  When he does, his voice is tightly composed as he’s close to losing it completely. “Marcus, did you watch me while I screamed for death? I remember, how my voice broke and I still begged you to let me die.”

He never calls Fury, Marcus except on the rarest of occasions.

“As often as I could be there for your surgeries, I was there,” Nick Fury assures him.  “I stayed with you when they prepped you. If I couldn’t be there, Maria was. We never left you alone.”

“I want my medical records. I want them unredacted and I do not wish to speak to you again until I’ve reviewed them.”

“Agreed,” a defeated Nick Fury concedes.

Nick Fury leaves, not with a flourish of his cape, but like a defeated dog, tail between his legs.  Coulson notices not, instead he reads voraciously. When he’s done, he locates May and hands her the records.

“Here’s a little light reading. I’d advise you to review it on an empty stomach,” he informs her. “I need to find Streiten.”

It’s a measure of their strong friendship that she just nods her head. Doesn’t offer to come along, doesn’t warn him to be careful. Just a nod of weary acceptance.

-=-

“What did he say?” Variations of that question hound Leo Fit all day.

“Nothing,” he lies, because he can’t reveal Coulson’s nightmares, where he had begged Fitz to let him die.  Nor will he ever reveal how when Coulson had thought Fitz was sleeping, he had wept like a man shattered into a hundred billion pieces. Because a thirteen year old Leopold Fitz has been that completely undone one time, standing on the railing of Bell’s Bridge in Glasgow.

He had taken one foot off the rail, about to jump, but some crazy bearded American had tackled him. To this day, Fitz has no idea from where his guardian angel had appeared as there hadn’t been anyone on the bridge.

Time fades even the jaggiest of memories, so what once was overwhelming pain, is washed out bits and pieces. He remembers unburdening himself to the American in a chip shop; how he didn’t fit in, how he didn’t belong anywhere. How his father was dead and his mother was working three jobs and how there was a gap between them, as she just couldn’t understand him.  And the bullying by his peers, all good jolly fun, supposedly, but how he just wishes it would just end.

Permanently. He remembers the American nodding his head.

“It will be get better,” the American promises. “Promise me that you’ll give it two weeks. If it doesn’t, there’s always the bridge.”

What an odd thing to say but he swears that he’ll give it another two weeks.

Three days later, he meets Siobhan from the Glasgow SHIELD office, who had gone to his school to locate him. Makes him takes various tests and his scores impresses her enough that she meets with his Mum, offers Leo a better education more suited for his talents.

He thinks the American was a SHIELD agent, but he’s not sure. He wishes he could thank the American properly, to let him know it did get better, but the American never told Leo his name. It’s not in his file, as Siobhan is listed as his first SHIELD contact.

“He said nothing?” Skye asks.

“He just didn’t want to drink alone,” Fitz explains.

Melinda May stops by his lab, as that is where the gang is hanging out. “Fury will be on the bus in about fifteen minutes. Ward, Skye, Simmons, I’d suggest staying here. Fitz.” She tilts her head and he realizes that he’s supposed to follow her. 

They walk out of the lab and she turns to face him. “I predict Coulson will repeat last night and you will need to line your stomach.”

“Why me?” Fitz asks. He wishes he doesn’t sound so bloody plaintive, but really, why Leo Fitz?

“Coulson has decided.” May says in a flat tone.

“I just don’t know if I’m helping him. I’m not good with people,” he explains.

“Little Bear, Coulson’s decided that you are his drinking companion,” Melinda May informs him. “That means you and I have been elected to protect Phil from Phil. We’ll give him another day or two of heavy drinking because I assume he’s unable to sleep. If in two days he’s still deciding alcohol is his solution, we will need to talk to Simmons.”

“He didn’t sleep much last night,” Fitz agrees.

“Catnaps at most, and he probably immediately dropped into REM sleep,” May decides. “Every time he closes his eyes, he relives what happens. I’m assuming you didn’t get much sleep, so go to your Pod, get some sleep. It will be a very long watch for you tonight.”

He nods as he’s exhausted. To his surprise, May squeezes his shoulder. “Thank you.”

She seems almost human then.

-=-

Coulson returns back from his meeting with Dr. Frankenstein and he sits in the cargo bay long enough to compose his features. It takes time to internally rebuild himself, as his mental voice keeps sing-songing, “that thing”.

Not a person.

Not Phil Coulson, but a thing. 

Naturally, the kid’s bedtimes have been ignored and they’re in the lounge. He refuses to acknowledge their attempts to drag him into a conversation; instead, he searches for Fitz. The engineer is there, he looks uncertain. However, Phil remembers the suicidal boy he had once been.

_“Promise me that you’ll give it two weeks. If it doesn’t, there’s always the bridge.”_

Phil Coulson stands on the bridge’s railing, and watches the river flow beneath his feet. It would be easier to jump, to return to the blessed peace of death, rather than remembering the overwhelming pain. 

Fury had completely shattered Phil Coulson thanks to Fury’s deluded beliefs that Phil Coulson didn’t deserve to die. He owes Melinda too much to completely lean on her, not after Brahain came so close to destroying her.  Leo Fitz reminds him how much life can change for the better in two weeks, oftentimes, so unexpectedly.

“Fitz,” he says. “Office.” 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

It’s another night of heavy drinking by Phil Coulson, where Fitz keeps his mouth shut and sips his drinks so he’s downing one shot to Phil’s three.  Coulson doesn’t notice that Fitz is rationing his drinks. Instead, Phil is completely focused on a black binder while he is trying to drink himself to blessed, sweet unconsciousness. However, Fitz is reading it also. Upside down. It was a trick of his and right now he wishes he lacked the knack.

Because he wants to vomit.

 _Forty eight year old male subject, status post cardiac pulmonary resuscitation due to cardiac arrest secondary to extensive chest trauma,_ _is conscious and awake during this current procedure. He has clearly expressed his desire for all advanced resuscitation methods to cease effective immediately.  He is stating “I can’t take any more” and “Please, I’m begging you, let me die.”_

_I believe that the subject is compos mentis and is capable to make the decision to cease resuscitation efforts._

_I have expressed in verbal and written form my belief that we have violated the subject’s rights to self-determination on his medical care.  I believe that even Josef Mengele would have drawn the line several operations ago._

“I want you to review this binder in my office,” Phil informs Fitz.  “I have questions about what was done to me, and I need you to explain the various devices they used on me. I need you to do this for me as Simmons might get a little over enthusiastic.”

“She won’t mean to,” Fitz insists. “She’d be better qualified to answer any medical questions.”

“That’s my naked brain on display,” a very drunken Coulson explains in a very flat tone.  “I would prefer not to experience Simmons having an orgasm over my naked brain.”

 Fitz flushes in severe embarrassment over Simmons, orgasm and naked being mentioned in the same sentence by Phil Coulson.

Fortunately Phil has a date with a bottle and then his bed, so he doesn’t notice.

* * *

Fitz dims the light so he can use Coulson’s desk. It’s odd to be on the power side of the desk, opposed to the other side, where he normally is. He reads throughout the night, horrified and yet amazed by what Fury’s people did, what Coulson endured.

 _That brain spider thing was most assuredly alien tech_. _It cauterized any necrotic tissue while doing a rewrite his memories on a cellular level.  And he was awake during it! Awake!_

It’s a long night as Coulson screams and screams in his sleep. Fitz makes the mistake, but only once, a rook’s mistake, of trying to wake him but Coulson throws him onto the bed.  Somehow, Coulson has both hands around Fitz’s throat and Fitz is beyond terrified.

“No more,” Coulson screams. “No more.”

He will die... in Coulson’s bed...  He has a split decision on how to react so against every instinct, he decides to relax – not to fight back. First of all, it will be futile; secondly, it might trigger Coulson further.

“Phil,” he pleads. “Take your hand off my throat.”

Phil blinks his eyes as he rouses from whatever nightmare had captured him. His hands uncurl but he rolls away from Fitz only after Fitz nods his head.

“Did I hurt you?”  His voice is rough, as though he’s shattered.

“Scared the bejesus out of me,” Fitz admits.

“Christ,” whispers Coulson. “Have Simmons look at your neck. **_Now_**.”

Fitz flees, as he knows an order when he hears it.

* * *

It’s simply not possible to sleep after nearly choking Fitz. He flips through the binder and then when his terror threatens to overwhelm him, he decides to close the binder. Put it away. At least for the next few hours. Perhaps, music? Yes. Music would be good, he decides. 

There’s a CD that Liz had made for him.  He hasn’t listen to it, not since he died, but it had been among the items he had received back on his first day back to work, almost a full year to the day that he had died. 

Liz, the cellist, had made the CD for him just before he had left for his meeting with Tony Stark.  He had nearly worn it out on the long drive.

She had cried... for days... after he had died.

He hadn’t reached out to her because he had been dead to her, for almost a year, while he had recovered. While they had stuck pins in his FrankenCoulson’s brain.

His hands shake, badly, so it takes several tries to actually manage to put the CD in.  He clicks play and nostalgia overwhelms his good sense as he decides to Google her. Just to make sure she’s ok, as he has worried about her.

_Phil Coulson enters Liz’s apartment. She’s practicing so doesn’t want to interrupt her. No, instead he decides to finish drying her dishes, take out her garbage and recyclables, carefully separating plastic from paper.  As he puts the paper recyclables, there’s a box that catches his attention. It’s located under a stack of papers and his heart skips a beat. It’s a box for a pregnancy test, the ones where you pee on a stick and it turns a multitude of colors._

_He’s been really careful when they make love, so... he swallows._

_The first thought is oh fuck, he’s too old. Second thought is, a giddy thought of he never thought...   third is, a stern warning to clamp it down and let Liz tell him what he needs to know.  Fourth is that he’s fucking scared because he has no idea how to be a parent. Fifth is he’s making assumptions based on circumstantial evidence._

_She’s putting away her cello when he reenters. He waits until she’s finished and then they kiss.  He’s careful because she might be... and..._

_“Christ, you saw the box,” she teases._

_“And?” he asks._

_“My periods are irregular and I was late. It would have been that delightful night at the Richmond when you were such a naughty boy,” she says as he continues to hold her. She pulls away and looks at him, “You’re not freaking out.”_

_“What’s bothering you?” he asks as he sits on the couch next to her._

_“I was really worried because...” she sighs. “But I’m not.”_

_“Why were you worried? Did you fear my reaction if you were?” he asks._

_She nods as she puts her feet on the coffee table._

_“I would have been happy,” he slowly admits. Liz is stunned and her face lights up when she realizes that there’s been a profound change for Phil._

_“Philip J. Coulson, do you want to make a baby with me?” she asks._

_He nods his head and Liz just stares at him._

_“I’ll request a transfer to the West Coast office,” he decides. “Get a desk job, develop a middle age spread and... I think I could be very happy.”_

_They talk, make plans and God laughs, as he is sent to speak to Tony Stark, then to New Mexico and back to New York where he dies._

He finds her blog and he reads. It starts off as her grief counselor’s suggested method for her to express her grief but she continues it after the grief has faded.

_I had a soul mate once. S.A.M. (Dubbed Secret Agent Man by my friends because he never revealed too much of himself to me in the beginning) was older than me, dressed like an accountant and told horrible jokes that made me laugh. Those that didn’t know us thought we were an odd couple, but those that knew the both of us knew that he was my soul mate._

_When we first met, I have to admit that I wasn’t sure about him. He treated me like a lady; held doors open for me and insisted on wheeling my cello wherever I went. I’m a thoroughly modern girl and I’ve been lugging that cello around since I was five, so I wasn’t sure about letting him man handle my best friend.  Yet when Marcia was having problems with a stalkerish -ex, he quickly intervened  and left him tied up for the cops to handle._

_Plus he only wanted to talk about me.  That’s why I called him S.A.M. for Secret Agent Man because Sammy wouldn’t talk about himself at first. It took a while for him but by that time I was head over heels (Endpin over scroll for us cello girls) for him. Seriously, he was a keeper. What man would willingly buy “Dummmy’s Guide to the Cello” so he would be able to understand when I bitched about a cold finger board?_

_He had a weird job, where he was always on call.  The times he swept into town, he literally swept in, made romantic plans and then would disappear for weeks at a time.  It was though he was determined to cram as much as he could into our hours together. It was though he knew our time was limited._

_Then he died in New York City, being a big goddamn hero._

_My world ended then. I went through the motions of living and cried myself to sleep every single night._

_Then one day I was at practice when someone interrupted the rehearsal.  There was a tall blond man, a shorter dark haired man with a goatee, a dark haired hair man who looked rumpled, and a tall red haired female. There was also a friend of Sam standing next to them, Greg. (Gold Rim Glasses, or G.R.G.)_

_“Excuse me, I’m looking for Elizabeth Kyeon?” the goateed man announced._

_The conductor motioned for everyone to take a break._

_“Cello, cello, cello. I think that’s her,” he said pointing at me._

_“Tony,” hissed the red head._

_“We’re kidnapping her for the rest of today,” ‘Tony’ told the conductor._

_Yes, Tony Stark had arrived._

_Sam’s job wanted to give him a proper burial at Arlington.  They wanted me involved, perhaps I’d play something. Greg had the grace to look embarrassed at the request, but I was too focused on the blond. He looked so familiar, and I missed Sam so much at that moment._

_“Are you... Steve Rogers?”_

_The blond Adonis nodded.  Now, Sam had a horrible boy crush on Steve Rogers.  Sam’s father had died when he was young and he had grown up without a father figure. He had latched onto Captain America as a role model and he had lived his life and died his death by the credo, ‘What would Steve Rogers do?’_

_His crush had been cute, and I had accepted it, as well, I would have fan girled all over Antonio Vivaldi.  However, at that moment, I hated Steve Rogers.  If he had been a bit more like... well... Tony Stark, Sam might still be alive._

_“You knew.... Sam?” I whispered._

_“It was my honor, Ma’am,” he told me. Thankfully, the red-headed female took pity of me, as she pushed the men out of the way, Rumple Man, aka  Bruce, followed us to offer me a handkerchief._

_“He talked about you all the time,” she assured me as I had my breakdown in front of Greg, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner and Steve Rogers._

* * *

_They had planned a state funeral. There would be politicians, an honor guard, and... and... it  just wasn’t Sam.  There was pomp and circumstance, but it was cold.  Because the people that had put this together hadn’t known my Sam.  There were speeches by people I was pretty darn sure that Sam detested._

_Pepper, the red head, didn’t approve of the plans either, so she offered Tony’s bank accounts._

_“Best we don’t tell the boys what we’re doing,” she told me.  “This funeral should be about Sam. I’m from New Orleans.”_

_I was so scared. I mean, suits everywhere, high ranking politicians, and me, the girl friend. I was standing there on the hallowed grounds of Arlington, with a dozen or so musicians.  We were leading off the funeral, and I had a quick meeting with my team._

_“We can still change back to the classical musical set,” I offered._

_“Oh no, honey, we’re doing it. And we’re doing it with a swagger,” insisted Mark, the bass trombone player._

_The team agreed and I nodded._

_“Take your positions,” I requested as I turned over my team to the conductor._

_To my surprise, Bruce offered to escort me in front of the band. But not just Bruce, but Sam’s EX. The Ex Wife, Greg, and all of those Avengers heroes, except for the Big Green Guy. Maybe he was visiting relatives._

_We stepped off, and the bass and percussion sections went into the tell tale opening of “Mission Impossible”._

_And therefore, my few and faithful readers, is the true story behind the Brass Band playing ‘Secret Agent Man’ at Arlington. Plus ‘Little Red Corvette’. I never thought the brass and percussion sections of the Philharmonic were willing to go to jail for me, high-stepping and swaying all the way, but now I know._

_Sam’s boss nearly stroked on the spot. His one good eye nearly popped out of his head.  However Greg laughed so hard that he cried. In the middle of the funeral, which I’m sure the One Eyed Pirate noticed, disapproved of the break in decorum, and sent him off to the shrinks. But the Big Blond Guy with the Major Muscles roared his approval, claiming it was a proper send off for a warrior. And I’d like to see the guy that would fight him on that opinion._

_Tony Stark gave me an approving head nod and Bruce smiled._

_Tony Stark made good on his promise to fly me anywhere as long as I’m on the ‘No Fly List’._

_Sammy, it was worth it._

Coulson smiles as that stunt sounds like Liz. There’s more on her blog, and his smile fades.

_If you’ve gotten this far, you know that I used to play cello in the Philharmonic-Symphony Society of New York and I lost quite a few friends there.  I did a benefit concert for them, and I met James. His wife was one of the viola players and she died in New York also._

_We talked a lot. About how angry I was that my soul mate had to be a big goddamn hero and he told me how much anger he had at the universe, as his wife had made the mistake of taking the subway one day. Gradually the anger faded, leaving us both weary and heartbroken and lonely._

_It’s not the same._

_It’s not. There are songs I will never play again on the cello, because it hurts too damn much._

_He doesn’t beat me at Jeopardy, especially Captain America and military history._

_But James understands why our baby boy will carry the name of Stephen and that when he comes home from the hospital, he’ll be wearing a Captain America onesie.  I’m sorry Tony, not the Iron Man onesie._

_(For those that guessed, yes, it’s a combination of the names Steve and Philip.  Because Sam.... Phil.... was the biggest Steve Rogers fanboy you had ever met in your life. And I hope that Phil knows that Steve Rogers spoke at his funeral.)_

* * *

Phil Coulson walks down the circular steps. He ignores his team’s concerned looks and he heads straight to the bar. He grabs two bottles and returns back to his office but Melinda May forces her way into his office.

“Phil, you’re drinking entirely too much.”

He ignores her as he fills a glass because he was planning on drinking himself into a coma.


	4. 4

Drinking himself into unconsciousness will not solve Phil’s problems.  He knows that, but at the moment, all of his support mechanisms are gone.

Phil Coulson is in free fall and there is no one he can trust.

No one, because if they had planted one fake memory in his mind, how does he know that it’s not the only fake memory? Fury could have easily planted a minder in his team; someone Coulson instinctively trusts. The choice for possible minder is clear - Melinda May.

He doesn’t want to believe it.   She had attended his funeral, Liz had remarked on the Ex being there. She had even been his emotional support, her and Jasper, on one of his first dates with Liz. Liz had a half dozen friends tag along, and he had.... his ex-wife and a former trainee. God, how pathetic was his life?

_Despite of my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage._

“’Secret Agent Man’ at Arlington. Fury must have blown a gasket,” he snarks at Melinda.

“Elizabeth was pretty smart. The band started off traditional and then it took a hard left. Though I think the trombonist with the red, white and blue Mohawk was a dead giveaway. Who told you?” she asks.

“Someone who was at the funeral,” he spits, and Melinda nods her head. “Apparently, Liz is pregnant.”

Melinda sharply inhales. Phil doesn’t notice as he’s too busy trying not to spill his drink as he pours with shaking hands. He’s either too drunk to pour, or too pissed  or ... possibly the worst combination; that he’s angry and drunk.

“No, I’m not the father as I didn’t bank my sperm. She’s moved on.”

It’s been more than a year since he ‘died’.  Nine months of rehabilitation. Possibly.  There’s no possible way he could be the father unless Fury decided to ‘help out’ again.  He manages not to spill his drink on its treacherous journey from desk to his mouth and he pours another.

“Phil,” May begins. “I’m worried about you.”

“Tell Fury I appreciate the fake concern.”  That’s the last he says to her for the remainder of the night as he makes sweet, sweet love to the bottle. And her sister.

 He’d laugh, if he could because their relationship has done a complete one-eighty.  Melinda May is the one that urges him to talk and he’s the one who won’t.

Can’t.

That’s the better word, as he can’t permit himself to trust her.

Really, he didn’t know of any divorced couples that were still close friends.

-=-

She watches Phil Coulson retreat.

Back to the bottle. 

Back to the old Phil with the hair-trigger temper; the old Phil who wounded with caustic comments.

The kids annoy him; by being loud, by being messy, by caring too much about him as they won’t let him be; but he suppresses the anger. Attacks the punching bag in the gym with a ferocity that she understands.  He punches and kicks, claws and fights until he’s so exhausted that he can barely stand, and still he doesn’t sleep.

Instead he drinks himself into a quasi coma and then next morning finds him standing, barely, with the facades cracking further and further.

She understands it all, but she doesn’t like how he views her – as someone he’s not sure he can trust.

But for some reason that she doesn’t comprehend, Phil leaned heavily on Fitz, then ceased.  Fitz won’t confess what happened, even with a bribe of cookies and milk, but he’s SCARED. Of. COULSON. Leo Fitz always had been nervous around Coulson, but not SCARED.  She had watched Coulson and Fitz silently interact after what had occurred, and had witnessed that Coulson had wearily acknowledged that whatever had happened between them as his fault.

Fury reaches out to her, wants a report on Coulson.

_Might be good to have Ward take a mission which just needs FitzSimmons and Skye.   MM_

_I’ll find something. FURY_

Two days later, a mission is flagged for them.  Science Division, requiring FitzSimmons’ involvement.   Coulson shares the mission information with her and she suggests, carefully, that it might be a good idea to send Ward and Skye.

He quirks a perplexed eyebrow.

“They’d fit in easier with the age group. FitzSimmons are rockstars of the SciTech Academy. Plus let’s not forget what happened the last time you got involved with another Academy.”

Phil had been part of the Communications Academy team who had been sent to Operations for cross-divisional unity or some bullshit like that. Had worked out really well, as in his first class, he had calmly informed the Professor that his example of strategy had just managed to kill his team.

A couple of the Ops Boys had decided to teach the older Comm punk a lesson, which had turned into a raging Coulson, formerly Army Ranger, taking down the lot.

Coulson almost smiles at the reminder of days past.

-=-=

She finds him obsessively peering over that damn binder.  She pokes, but carefully, to see if he’s still willing to listen to her.  To her relief, he puts it away, and asks why they’re heading to Mexico City.  She explains and Phil decides to stop focusing on his issues and work on Skye’s history.  May sighs once more in relief, as it had been a gamble, but due to his childhood, Phil was always a bit too keen to focus on helping others, and ignoring his own issues.

That’s her plan. Keep him away from the bottle, keep him working, get him talking, do anything she can to distract him, work him until he’s exhausted enough to sleep and... oh while she’s at it, she needs to find out his plans.

A quiet, introspective Coulson is an anomaly, though she’s one of the few that knows that his talking is really just ‘white noise’. For him to be so quiet, means that he’s obsessively, compulsively thinking about recent events.  To combat that, she talks for more than her norm in an attempt to draw him out. About what she’d do if she was trying to get off the grid, trying to determine what Coulson’s plans are. He calls her out on talking too much; she asks the question she fears she knows the answer.

“Do you trust me?”

No hesitation when he answers, “Yes,” but the look in his eyes, she doesn’t like.  He’s not lying to her, but Coulson is in freefall.

They go to Mexico City, they find their man and... Phil lets him go. Gives him a chute, a suit, a blanket, a tank of oxygen and money.  The former SHIELD agent is in the wheel well when they leave, but not when they land.

“I hate SciTech,” Coulson snaps when they discover the trouble Ward and his team have inadvertently caused. “You can’t leave the kids unchaperoned.”

She flies into the eye of a superstorm, somewhere Jim Cantore is eating his heart out but the stupid, misguided kid dies too young. The team is quiet and sober, but the person taking it the hardest is Fitz. Not even Simmons can convince him to eat.

There are meetings upon meetings, and root cause analysis and other bull shit like, but Coulson insists on escorting Fitz and the team everywhere.  Coulson is still catnapping, but he has a cause, someone to protect, so he is distracted from the black binder in his desk drawer and the bottle. It’s enough for May, but Little Bear is shattering from guilt.

Finally, Coulson puts his foot down, tells Fury to go to hell but he’s taking his team out of service for some much needed R&R. He returns back to the Bus where he tells Melinda to make the decision. She decides on Glasgow, just in case Fitz would like to go home for a bit.  It’s also close enough for Jemma’s parents to take a holiday to visit her.

He makes the announcement to the team that they’ll be on R&R and that they’re heading to Glasgow. That done, Phil Coulson looks at Leo Fitz, ponders for a bit and then announces, “Fitz. Office.” Fitz flinches and then nods his head.

Coulson walks to the bar, grabs a bottle of scotch and also takes the last bottle of seltzer.

-=-

Coulson pours himself a tall glass of seltzer and pours the scotch for Fitz.

“Talk to me,” is all he says.  Fitz waits until his fourth drink before he begins to ramble. It’s a long, sprawling confession about he could have been Donnie. Fitz admits that by the time he had been befriended by Simmons, he was so tired of being alone and having no one understand him that would have literally killed for her if she had wished it.

“I doubt that,” is all Coulson says, but his mild response causes Fitz’s anger to boil over.

Fitz unloads on Coulson; how he helped solve the power problem Donnie had, how he had sympathized with him because he hadn’t had a friend until he met Simmons. He talks about his suicide attempt, how some bearded American had saved his life, and how for years, he had wondered if he had been a SHIELD agent, due to Siobhan’s arrival at his school a few days after their talk.

Phil realizes that Fitz doesn’t realize who the bearded American is, nor that he’s currently talking to him.

“I had hoped that if he was a SHIELD agent, that he knew that I went to the Academy, became an agent, that he’d be proud of how I’d turned out,” the Scot explains.

“If he was a SHIELD agent, I’m sure he’s kept an eye on you through the years,” is Coulson’s response.  “I’m sure he’s quite proud of how you’ve turned out.”

“That due to my arrogance, I help kill someone,” Fitz spits. “I’m sure he’s proud of his role in that. He should have let me die.”

Coulson says nothing after that.  He tries, but his battery is dead.  He hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in months, but he’s been running on coffee and sheer will power for the last three weeks.  Really, he needs to admit his small role in Seth’s death. He hadn’t been on the mission, he would have recognized what Donnie and Seth were doing, drawing Fitz into their scheme. And if Fitz hadn’t been in SHIELD, he wouldn’t have been involved.  

Phil wishes that he was still dead, because... the afterlife had been ... beautiful.   He remembers being happy and at peace, but his life.... this mockery that he’s living because of Nick Fury’s egotism is absolute hell.  He lets Fitz drink and he puts the boy to bed in his POD.

Yes, he wants to return back to the barely remembered peace.  Because of his Irish-Catholic upbringing, he wonders if he’s actually damning himself to Hell, but... he’s mentally and physically exhausted.

However, he needs to put his affairs in order, give some words of advice to his team and ensure that his few prized possessions go to right people. Perhaps, he’ll rent a private room in a restaurant for his farewell meal with his team. 

Yes, have a proper send off.

He spends time reviewing what he could give each team member. It has to be well thought out and something that will mean something.

His watch. It was his father’s watch, so he’ll give it to Jemma, with a note expressing his hopes that it will help her be on time for once.  

And Lola? Only one person could be trusted with Lola.

He takes his fountain pen and nice, crisp parchment. He begins to write. There will be no explanations on why he did what he did, only his thoughts and hopes for their future. By the time he finishes writing, he’s exhausted enough to sleep.

-=-=

By the time they land in Glasgow, Phil has made plans and informed everyone that there will be a team dinner. It’s anticipated that everyone will be dressed to impress and he’ll do a spot check to confirm.  First victim is Leo Fitz.

“Cuff links,” he insists. He hands the box to Fitz. It’s an old battered box, but the cuff links were Phil father’s cufflinks. It’s the only thing Phil has left of him, besides the watch and Phil doesn’t want to wear them when he’s buried.  “Suit jacket. No sweater. You can keep the cuff links, they’re an extra set I picked up somewhere.”

Fitz isn’t happy but fortunately Simmons bustles in and chirps how lovely it would be to see Fitz in a suit so Fitz will be wearing a suit jacket.  Phil continues his rounds of the team, talking to each one and he ends in the cargo bay for what will be the hardest goodbye.  

“We’ve been through a lot together,” he says to Lola.  “Your new owner will treat you well, I promise.”

-=-=

Leo Fitz calls his mum, tells her that he’s in Glasgow but that he has a team dinner. However, he promises that he’ll meet her first thing next morning.

“I want to meet your Mum,” Skye announces.

“She’s lovely,” Simmons informs Skye even while his mother overhears the two of them chattering which earns them an invitation to visit his mum.

“Yes, Mum, I’ll bring them over to meet you.”

His mother promises to make Tipsy Laird for the visit, and then she adds, “I’ll make a batch of Chocolate Tablet for that nice Agent Coulson. You make sure he gets it.”

“You know Agent Coulson, Mum?” Fitz asks. He pauses before exclaiming, “He writes you?”

“Coulson writes my parents,” Simmons informs Skye.

Fitz waves his hands in the hopes it will silence the crackling crones.  His mum explains, “Dear, he and I have been corresponding ever since he helped get you into that expensive school. Remember? After you two met in the chip shop? He located me at one of my jobs as he wanted to talk to me about you attending a better school. He said that you were too smart to be in that horrid school, and after you got into the school, he would write a quick note every now and then to let me know how well you were doing. He was so proud when you got your first doctorate.”

“He’s the man in the chip shop?”  Fitz repeats.

“Leopold, he wasn’t just the man in the chip shop, he was on the bridge that night,” his mother whispers.

His world shifts and Fitz remembers what he told Coulson, how he wished the Bearded Amercian knew how Seth had died, how proud he should have been, thanks to his small role in Seth’s death. Coulson hadn’t said anything, instead, he had looked really, really exhausted, as though the fight was gone.   

“I never told you about that,” Leo protests.

“He told me,” his mum explains. “He assured me that it wasn’t my fault because I was trying so hard to provide for the two of us. He had a similar upbringing, as his father had died when he was quite young, so it had just been his mother and him.”

“I really didn’t recognize him. It’s been fifteen years,” Leo explains.  “He had a beard there.”

They talk for a bit, but Fitz soon promises his mum that he’ll call back. He needs to speak to Coulson, who seems to be deliberately avoiding him. The two men finally meet up at the restaurant and Fitz blocks Coulson from escaping.

“You had a beard back then,” he says. “I didn’t recognize you.”

Coulson slowly nods. “We seem to have to have done a one eighty since then.” He hesitantly reaches out and squeezes Fitz’s shoulder. “You’ve done really well. I’m proud of you. Always remember that. Now let’s go have dinner.”

“About what I said,” Fitz offers.

“Forgotten,” Coulson lies.

-=-=

The team is mulling around in the private room.  Coulson motions for everyone to stay where they are, and he pours drinks for everyone.

“I’d like to propose a toast.  It’s my right as Boss,” he says after the last drink is poured. “I want to thank you for everything and I’m really proud of what we’ve accomplished. I’d also like to apologize for all the trouble I’ve caused recently and what I’ll be causing in the near future. _Slàinte!”_

_The team stares at him, most in confusion but May’s eyes narrow.  She adds a very dry, “Well, it’s your right as team lead to cause trouble for us,” so the team relaxes and drink._

However, she’s not fooled and she waylays him in the corner while everyone is mingling and eating appetizers.  “What are you doing?”

“Thanking everyone for putting up with me and my recent issues. I thought I’d take everyone out to dinner. I found this place when I was in Glasgow, ten, fifteen years ago. Good food, reviews say it’s still good, and it’s close to the hotel.” Coulson rates sincerity, but not too much as May is hard to fool.

 “If something was bothering you, you’d let me know?” May asks.

“Actually, there is something that is bothering me,” he admits.  “After what happened, what Fury did to me, I doubted you. I thought Fury had put you on the team to mind me. To prevent me from unlocking the past.”

Melinda May doesn’t look angry, doesn’t deny, instead she looks ... understanding.

“That explains why you’ve been so distant lately,” she admits. “I was worried that you were planning something stupid.”

“I never plan anything stupid, everything is rather meticulously planned. Thank you for putting up with me.”  He unbends enough to give her a quick hug and May looks stunned. “Kids are too busy enjoying the free food and drinks to have noticed that breach in decorum. ‘Sides, they wouldn’t believe it anyway.”

He walks away but stops, “Melinda, Grant? I think he’s taking it more seriously than you are. Be careful.”

His message given and received, Phil Coulson mingles with his team. He puts an almost physical effort into being upbeat, cheerful and happy.   The charade takes the last of his energy so after dessert is served he announces that he’s returning back to the hotel.

“I’m tired,” he confesses. “Haven’t been sleeping lately, so I’m exhausted.  Don’t bother me unless the world is ending. I spoke with the restaurant and my tab is open for the next two hours, so eat , drink on me. I’ll take a cab back to the hotel.”

He says his final goodbyes and leaves, making sure to slip Lola’s keys into Melinda’s jacket pocket.

-=-=-

“Is Coulson really gone?” Fitz asks. “I want to take off the jacket.”

“Dad’s gone back to the hotel,” Skye teases. “I hope he’ll get some sleep, he’s been off... lately.”

“He’s seemed like the Old Coulson tonight,” Ward inserts.

“He was trying too hard,” May and Skye state at the same time.  The two women look at each other and May nods her head so Skye continues, “He’s physically exhausted, but he worked the room, talked to each of us.”

May nods and then she walks over to Fitz who has removed his jacket. She grabs his arm and stares at his cufflinks.

“Where did you get those?” she intently asks.

“Coulson gave them to me, told me to keep them as they were an extra set,” a nervous Fitz explains.

“Those were his father’s cufflinks. He only saves them for the most important occasions, so I don’t think he’d tell you to keep them,” May explains.  She closes her eyes and thinks. “I don’t think you’re lying, Fitz but how did Coulson phrase this toast? ‘I’d also like to apologize for all the trouble I’ve caused recently and what I’ll be causing in the near future’? Did Coulson give anybody else anything?”

“May, Coulson just gave him cufflinks, it’s not like he gave him the keys to Lola?”  Ward inserts. “Because if he gave up the keys, I’d be really worried.”

Everyone denies that Coulson has given them anything, but May is still bothered. She remembers seeing Coulson fumbling with his coat when he left, so she checks her jacket pockets.  There’s something in the inner pocket and she pulls out a car key attached to a Corvette key chain. The team grows silent as they realize what it could possibly mean.  Coulson giving away his prized possessions, his odd behavior.

“Going to the hotel,” she announces. “Someone try calling Coulson on his phone.”

-=-=

Coulson doesn’t return to his hotel, instead, he takes a long walk to Bell’s Bridge.

-=-=

Melinda May breaks into Coulson’s hotel room.   There’s an empty suitcase, but she scans the room.

No tooth brush, no toothpaste, no razor, no pajamas.  In the closet, there is Coulson’s best suit, a dress shirt, his dress shoes, dress socks. His red Captain America tie. An unopened package of boxers. There are six envelopes on the desk, with various items.   His father’s watch, his Ranger knives, a book....

“May, he’s at Bell’s Bridge,” Fitz states.

“Why do you think that?” May asks. “I don’t see anything here that says he’s jumping off a bridge.”

Fitz swallows once , twice and then confesses his dark past.

“I first met Coulson when I was.... I was about to jump off the Bell’s Bridge.  He stopped me, and... he made a comment tonight about it being a complete one eighty from when we first met.  I thought it was because I wasn’t suicidal, but...   it makes better sense if he’s the one that’s jumping. If we get there before he does, we might be able to set up a force field net under the bridge so if he jumps, he’ll hit that, not the river. Pull up to the front door; I’ll meet you there, I need to get a few things from my room.”

“Make it fast,” May orders. “Simmons, bring your bag of tricks.”

-=-=-=

It’s late when Phil Coulson reaches the footbridge.  He walks the length of it several times, trying to ensure that he’s completely alone.  He finally decides it’s time, and he carefully stands on the rail. He takes a long, slow breath and he steps off the bridge.

He hits the surface hard and the impact knocks him out cold.

 

 

 


	5. 5

“He’s in the water,” announces Fitz as he scans his radar screen.  He clicks and sends his location to their tracking devices. “Hurry!”

“Is he swimming?” May asks as she puts one foot into the water. Ward is already swimming toward the location.  Both specialists are decked out in SHIELD’s swim rescue gear, the swim fins, the goggles and their oxygen masks.

“He’s sinking!”  Fitz shouts. May nods and begins swimming.

Fitz waits long enough for May to get distracted before he strips down to his plaid shorts.  He puts on his modified SHIELD swim fins, underwater goggles and his own oxygen mask before he enters the water. He has surprisingly quick, strokes and he quickly outdistances the other two rescuers.

He has to save Coulson, because he accepts that his conversation with Coulson had been instrumental in tonight’s events. And if Coulson succeeds, he will never stop blaming himself.

-=-

Leo Fitz can swim, surprisingly well, as he was required to take a sport when he was at SHIELD academy.  After a failed attempt at archery, [he was worried about damaging his hands] he had settled on swimming.  It’s a fortunate turn of events, as he gets to the submerged Coulson before the others. He takes a deep breath and inhales, before he removes his oxygen mask and forces it on the unresponsive Coulson. That done, he wraps the rescue strap under Coulson’s arm and he points the rescue gun towards the muddy bottom. It fires, successfully, and the explosion lifts them to the water’s surface.  

He gasps, content to breathe, and he lets Ward take Coulson to the shore.  May throws a strap around him and starts pulling. Really, he should protest, but he’s out of shape. Hard to swim in an airplane. He’ll ask Coulson about installing a lap pool after tonight.

Or maybe he’ll just build it and tell him later.  It’s easier to ask for forgiveness then permission.

“If you ever do anything like that again,” May threatens when they reach the shore.

“Threaten me later, Simmons needs help,” retorts Fitz.

-=-

Ward drags-carries Coulson to Simmons, who instructs Ward to place Coulson on his side.

“I hope he doesn’t have a spinal fracture, but I’ll have to risk it,” she murmurs, but she puts a device on each side of Coulson’s chest.  “CLEAR.”

There is a discharge and Coulson jerks. He vomits a copious amount of water and begins coughing.

Jemma places one hand on his back and calmly reassures him to keep breathing, that he’ll be fine. Coulson just flinches.

“We need to take him to the base, where he can be treated. If he’s swallowed that much water, he’s at risk of pulmonary edema.”

Coulson rouses enough to weakly protest and May shakes her head.

“Bus,” she decides. “We’ll monitor him there. If necessary, we’ll take him to the base. Let’s do a quick assessment and move him. And Fitz, get dressed before you get pneumonia.”

Fitz blushes but Skye rushed over to him and gives him his clothes.

-=-

When Coulson is placed in a sitting position on the stretcher in Medical, he closes his eyes and refuses to answer anything, especially, “WHY?”

“Fitz,” snaps Simmons. Since this is her area of expertise, she easily takes command.

“Warming up the hypothermia blankets now. I’m warming up the IVs also.”

“May, we’ll need to remove his clothes,” Simmons orders.  “Sir, if you don’t start talking, I’m dropping an NG tube down your nose and putting a catheter in.”

She advises Fitz to hang several bags of antibiotics and then she sighs.

“Very well, Ward, I need you to restrain Coulson,” she announces. “Soft restraints on his wrists and his ankles.”

That causes Coulson to physically react and he catches Ward with his arm.

“Bad,” Simmons fiercely chastises Coulson. “I’m very angry with you. Very, very angry with you. So we can do this one of two ways. My way or my way where I’m furious. Either way, it’s my way.”

Coulson shakes his head and whispers.

“I can’t hear you,” Simmons growls.

“Please,” Coulson whispers loud enough so Fitz can hear him... “No more. No more. I am begging you, Marcus, no more. I can’t take anymore.”

“Who is **_Marcus_**?” Ward asks.

“Fury,” May inserts. “He’s quite confused and thinks he was stabbed by Loki.”

Fitz weasels his way into the space by Coulson’s head. “Listen to me, it’s Simmons, not Fury.”

Coulson manages to focus on Fitz and he mouths, “Simmons?” The team lead is having an episode of full body shaking and Fitz wonders if it’s actually a panic attack rather than hyperthermia.

“Yes, Simmons. You trust Simmons.” Fitz puts his hand on Coulson’s shoulder. “Easy. You can trust Simmons.”

“Angry,” Coulson mouths.

“That she is,” Fitz admits which earns him a not very gentle love tap from Skye.

“Keep talking to him,” Simmons orders.  “Tell him, do not panic and we won’t restrain him. We need to dry him off, so we’re cutting off this clothes and covering him with the warming blankets. His core temperature’s down. Plus he’s inhaled half the Lake. We need to support his breathing.”

Coulson weakly nods.

Simmons bustles, draws bloods, inserts an IV and decides to piggy back antibiotics. She runs several diagnostics, reviews the results and then she asks everyone to leave.

“I don’t think he’ll want you here for this,” she says. Her no-nonsense persona of earlier has disappeared and she looks uncomfortable.

The team matches out, under protest and Simmons turns to Coulson.

“Sir, I have to put a Foley in. There’s no one here except for us, so, just relax, it will be over soon,” she says.  A closed-eyed Coulson nods his head so she thinks he’s agreeing. “I have to put you flat on your back. Once it’s in, I’ll put you in a sitting position again.”

She takes a deep breath, uncovers him and she nearly swallows her teeth when she takes a gander.  His suits do not do him justice and she’ll never ever be able to look at him in his eyes again. No, she’ll be staring lower. 

Simmons composes herself, and takes him in hand, as it were.  The Foley is placed and she sighs in happiness as Coulson didn’t so much as stir once during the insertion. She’s rewarded for her medical prowess by Coulson, who then sits upright and bellows, “SIMMONS!” It seems that the roar weakens Coulson, mighty lion, as he gasps, “Normally… drinks …. dinner… before …. **_groping_**.”

She squeaks while Coulson tries to laugh. Instead, he begins to cough a pink, frothy foam.  Simmons springs into action and raises the headrest so Coulson is sitting upright.

“I thought….” He gasps. “If I made…. You… laugh….you’d stop …. being angry…” He closes his eyes. He doesn’t have enough air to continue, so he mouths, “at me.”

“You just concentrate on breathing,” Simmons insists as she inserts medication into the IV port.  “I don’t want to have to intubate you. Take deep breaths as your oxygen level is dropping.”

“Get Ward… I’ll…. panic… if…. Awake.”

“Stop talking!” Even while Simmons grabs the bag valve mask, her stylet, an endotracheal tube and her size three Miller blade and her suction, the team is running into Medical. “Everyone grab a limb. I don’t have time for the drugs to take affect so I’m doing this now.”

“I have to drop the stretcher head.  I’ll get the tube in and it will be better.”

Coulson nods. He’s exhausted from the effort of breathing but he manages to say his final words. “Watch…. Yours…. Help you… be on…. Time”

“Count of five, I’m putting him supine.”  She puts up three fingers, so the team sees it but not Coulson. “One, two, three…”

She’s never intubated a conscious patient before, and certainly not someone like Coulson, but she gets her tube (Thank God, his vocal cords are nice and white, it doesn’t seem that he was a smoker) in before he panics and clenches down, and she attaches the bag valve mask to the tube. To be safe, and to prevent him from biting down on the airway, she slips in a plastic oropharyngeal airway.

“Don’t move it, and squeeze it when I say to,” she orders Skye. “And keep his arms and legs under control.”

She removes the heating blanket from his chest and from the surprised inhalations of Skye and Ward, they were the only two on the bus who hadn’t known the extent of Coulson’s chest scar.

“Squeeze,” she orders as she places _her_ stethoscope just so. “Squeeze. And squeeze.”

She checks the placement of the tube, secures it, and then she nods her head even while she instructs Skye to continue bagging.

“I’m putting you on a machine that will do all your breathing,” she explains to a barely conscious Coulson. “I want you to rest, regain your strength and then when you’re feeling better, the team will take turns… kicking your arse.”

Coulson quirks a drugged smile while Simmons glares at him.

“You won’t be able to sit for a week by the time I’m done,” she fiercely insists. “I’m so angry with you.”

“We’ll let you go first. I’m last,” May inserts.

A wise Coulson pretends to be asleep, and after Simmons injects a new medicine into his port, he is. Simmons slowly exhales after Coulson is placed on the ventilator.  She’s exhausted, but she holds herself together because Coulson and the team are depending on her.

“It’s not his fault, it’s mine,” protests an extremely shaken Fitz. “We had a conversation and I said something...”

“It doesn’t matter why it happened, we need to focus on helping him,” Skye disagrees. “He hasn’t let us help him since he was captured by Centipede. And that worked out fantastically well. We don’t leave him alone.”

Ward shakes his head.

“And Simmons gets a break from Coulson-sitting,”

“I’ll sit with him first,” Fitz insists.

“Change your clothes,” May chastises. “Dry clothes for everyone, but Simmons, you change and I’ll watch Coulson. Then I’ll change.”

 “We need to take him to the base,” Simmons protests to May. “He’s stable, but he needs a physician.”

“We’re being boarded,” Ward announces as there is a soft chime. He checks a panel and shakes his head. “Whoever it is, it has the security codes to override the locks. That means…”

“Divine Retribution has arrived,” Nick Fury growls, while Maria Hill escorts him. He walks over to where Coulson is lying. He stares at his one good eye and then he turns on a dime and faces the terrified Simmons. “Prognosis?”

“We’ve stabilized,” Simmons begins.

“Bullshit, you stabilized him. What happened? May?” Fury growls. “Hill, extricate Streiten out of his poker game in London and get his ass here.”

“He said that he should be here within the hour, Sir,” Hill inserts. “I informed him that he had fifteen minutes.”

“You’re to keep him alive until Streiten gets here,” Fury orders.  “May, get into dry clothes and explain to me why the **_fuck_** Coulson is on a vent. After I moved heaven and earth to keep him alive.”

“He jumped off a bridge,” Fitz inserts. “After he realized that his brain was Spidered, he wasn’t sure who to trust, what was real and what had been planted in his mind.”

“Spidered?” Maria asked.

“The alien technology that was used to burn memories of Tahiti in his subconscious,” Fitz fiercely explained. “When Streiten scalped him? By the way, Coulson is quite pissed about you refusing the hair transplant.”           

Fury’s one eye narrows in something that might be annoyed respect. “Coulson was right about you two. He insisted on having FitzSimmons on his team. I thought he was nuts because really… FitzSimmons out in the field… bastard was right again.”

Fury turns again and glares at Coulson’s team. “Do you all want pneumonia?  Or you expecting me to hand out medals? Dry clothes, people.”

The team runs like hell, except for Simmons and May. Simmons refuses to leave Coulson alone, and May will not be moved by anyone.

“This is why I shave my head, else I’d be fucking grey,” snaps Fury.

 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N – Peggy Carter’s autograph to Phil is from “At a Loss of Words” by Concertigrossi. Read it, you’ll love it.

A/N –  We’ve had the 8th snowiest winter ever where I live, and we’re still not done – which means I have nothing to do but shovel snow, chip ice and write fanfic at a much accelerated rate.  Normally, I don’t write this fast. Ever.

* * *

 

The team changes into dry clothes, while May distributes what Coulson had left in his hotel room to the team where they can open them (or not) in private.  She then permits herself dry clothes and she heads back to Medical where Streiten is reviewing the various diagnostics that Jemma had run. Simmons stops her before she enters Medical.

“We can’t leave him alone with Fury and Streiten,” Simmons protests. “Not when he can’t defend himself. I’m going in. He’s being stabilized right now, so wait outside. I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything.”

May nods and Ward looks confused, “I don’t understand any of this.”

“We don’t leave him alone,” Fitz explains.

* * *

Coulson is still unconscious, but Simmons marches past Fury and Streiten and another nameless personnel to Coulson’s bedside without so much as by-your leave. Maria Hill has wisely left the Bus as she knows the fallout will be nuclear.

“You’re not alone,” she whispers to the patient. “I’m here and I will protect you. When you’re up and about again, I’ll give you back your watch and for the record, I am not **_always_** late to our 1:1 meetings.”

She tightly squeezes his hand and then walks over to Streiten where she crosses her arms and attempts to look intimidating.  It fails when she realizes that Streiten has the holotable displaying lab values for Phil Coulson.  She points at one and then begins to bring up several different lab counters where the results are markedly different.

“Graph Thiamine, Cyanocobalami,” Simmons snaps off several exotic sounding names and then waits for the results. She reviews them and turns to Streiten, “How did you **_miss_** his levels dropping rather significantly after he was **_captured_** and **_tortured_** by Centipede? And what’s **_this_** Centipede Cocktail?”

She pokes at something and it expands into its chemical compound.

“Fascinating, this particular nasty psychotropic drug wasn’t on his medical report that I was given. I am assuming that the report was heavily redacted as I’m only a Level 5.” 

“What’s happening?” May asks. She knew that Simmons meant for the others to stay outside, not Melinda May, so she was inside the lion’s den.

“ ** _Secrets_** ,” Simmons snaps. She is particularly fierce as she is trying to channel her inner Melinda May for this altercation. “I was not informed of this particular drug. It’s an experimental sedative-hypnotic that has extremely nasty withdrawal complications. It never came to market because a patient needs to be weaned off it, carefully, else they have extended and extreme periods of insomnia, depression and paranoia. With these particular levels, I’m gobsmacked that he could actually get out of bed in the morning and get dressed.”

“You just let him….” May begins. Her fierceness impresses Streiten, or more truthfully, frightens him, as he finds himself moving closer to Fury.

“I didn’t let him do anything,” Streiten growls. “I was ordered, against my better judgment, to get him back here. I gave him ‘vitamins’ which he was supposed to take, which would wean him off the drug.”

“He didn’t like how they made him feel, so he stopped taking them,” May admits.

“I warned you,” Streiten is ferocious in anger, as he turns to face Fury, who looks furious.

“You’re in too deep to suddenly find your conscience,” Fury growls. “You get him back on his feet and that’s an order.”

“Simmons?” May focuses on her and asks, “What should be done?”

“We need to get him off the vent, watch for pneumonia, and wean him off the drugs…” Simmons begins.

“Not medically, what can _the team_ do?”

“Don’t leave him alone,” Simmons decides. “We can’t leave him alone.”

“One at a time, so they’re not hovering. Let me know when they can starting sitting with him.”

“An hour,” Jemma announces.

* * *

Melinda May is surprised when she realizes that she feels… comfortable… leaving Simmons alone with Fury and Streiten as Simmons is being quite fierce. She’s also rather flattered, in a droll way, as she recognizes that Simmons was impersonating MAY during her standoff with Fury. Melinda will talk to the team, gauge their reactions and then hand out their assignments.  Then she’ll return to Medical as she’d like to see Fury attempt to remove her from the room.

“How is he?” Skye asks. “What happened?”

“Simmons believes that it’s a result of drugs Centipede gave him when they kidnapped him.  They drugged him with an experimental drug that required him to be weaned off it, carefully. It wasn’t done properly so the effects included depression and insomnia.”

“So that’s why he jumped?” Fitz asks. His tone is odd, as though he’s looking for absolution. The Scot also looks quite haggard as though he’s been replaying over and over again what happened. Plus he did one hell of a job rescuing Coulson from the riverbed.

“It certainly helped,” is all she’ll admit.

“When can we visit?” Skye asks.

“After he’s stabilized. If you want to visit, let me know, I’ll make a schedule.”

The kids immediately volunteer (and oh, what it says about her when she lumps Ward into the ‘kid’ section).

“Go have breakfast,” May orders. “Bring something down for Simmons. Use the good coffee, Phil’s stash, and make two pots.”

The kids, thankfully, don’t protest and instead they head to the kitchen.

“Fitz.”

He turns and faces her.

“What happened between you and Coulson?”  She keeps her voice calm and nonjudgmental.

“It was nothing,” Fitz lies, which causes May to shake her head.

“Coulson gave you his father’s cufflinks. His father died when he was quite young, and he only had two items that belonged to his father.  His father’s watch, which he gave to Jemma as she’s always late, and his father’s cufflinks. They meant a great deal to him, and for him to give them to you…”

“Maybe he felt paternal,” Fitz offers.

“Or maybe he saw something in you that reminded him of himself. He was leaning on you pretty heavily and then it stopped. So that, combined with the cufflinks, something happened. He felt a great deal of guilt.”

“He gave you Lola, I think that means more than a pair of cuff links,” Fitz protests.

“What happened with you two?” She will not be sidetracked from her target.

“He fell asleep one time, had a nightmare. I tried to wake him. He was confused and he tried to choke me,” admits Fitz. “Fortunately, he realized what he was doing before he succeeded.”

“That’s part of it, but not all, the 180 comment? What didn’t you tell the team? It was obvious it was heavily edited,” May states.

“When I first met him, I was about to jump off the bridge. I didn’t realize it was him, and during one of our conversations, I had commented… that I wondered that the man who had stopped me from jumping, what he would feel like if he knew about Seth’s death.  They played me… and…”

“What exactly did you say?” she asks.

Fitz looks at the floor before he begins to speak, “I told him that I wondered if the man that stopped me from jumping was a SHIELD agent. He said, ‘If he was a SHIELD agent, I’m sure he’s kept an eye on you through the years. I’m sure he’s quite proud of how you’ve turned out’. I told him, ‘That due to my arrogance, I help kill someone. That I was sure he’s proud of his role in that. He should have let me die’.”

“And?” Melinda prompts.

“This is all my fault,” confesses a very somber Fitz. “When I was that low, he held his hand out to me. Well, actually he did a flying tackle and prevented me from jumping. He didn’t even feckin’ know me. And when he was clinging to the cliff’s edge, I bloody stepped on his hands.”

He doesn’t want to destroy the rumored stoicism of the Scottish people, but he has to wipe his eyes. Well, Dad was Glaswegian, while Mum was from Edinburgh, so he was a mutt.

“It’s not your fault. Phil’s been through a lot of trauma,” May quietly states. “And he gave you his father’s cufflinks. It wasn’t because he felt guilty, but he remembered how it was for a boy to grow up without a father. Did you read his letter to you?”

Fitz shakes his head.

“Maybe you should,” she suggests. “In mine, he says that he’s responsible for his decision and nobody else.”

“Did it help?” Fitz asks.

“Not one damn bit,” she admits.

“When can I see him?” Fitz asks.

“Go visit your mom,” May orders, but not unkindly. “I’ll schedule you for late this afternoon.”

“I want to see him first, then I’ll visit Mum,” he insists and May nods. “So, if there was that much meaning in cufflinks what does a red corvette mean?”

May surprises herself by answering, as after all, she’s used her meager allocation of words for Fitz for the next year.  “A very sincere apology.”

For Bahrain, for pulling her out of the Cellar and her happy, impassable mote of red paper, for forcing her to deal with the aftermath of his attempt and most importantly, for allowing what happened to him to doubt their friendship.

* * *

Skye has changed her clothes and she’s sitting in her pod, reading her note from AC.

_It seems rather presumptuous of me, but I have found myself thinking of you as the daughter that I never had. My impetuous wild-child daughter of my soul who makes my rapidly thinning hair grey even while I try to hide my indulgent smile. Don’t blame yourself for what I’m doing.  You pulled me back before, but the damage… I’m just exhausted in body and soul. _

_I need to rest._

_I’ll always be watching over you. Never fear._

_AC_

She wipes her eyes and flips through the book, a well-worn first edition of The Autobiography of Margaret Carter. There are autographs galore, a strong Peggy Carter signature and later on, a personalized autograph to ‘Philip - I must say, _entre nous_ , it's nice to know I can still make a handsome young man stammer and blush.  ~ Peggy’ in handwriting made tremulous by age.  There is Dum Dum Dugan, Howard Stark, and other people who she’ll have to Stark-Search later.  Later, when the wound has healed as it’s too damn fresh.

‘Skye - Peggy reminds me of someone we both know. That means, you. ~ AC’

There’s a knock on her POD wall and it’s Ward.

“What did he give you?” he quietly asks.

“The Autobiography of Margaret Carter,” she says, proud that her voice doesn’t break in grief and sorrow over a man that she had placed in the role of her emotional father. Also, she won’t mention to Ward that Carter had made Coulson blush. It’s a rather sweet thought that will make her smile.

“She’s a founding member of SHIELD and was Steve Roger’s sweetheart,” Ward explains. “I got his Army Ranger knives.”

Left unsaid is that they both think they came out the better with more personal bequests.

* * *

Fitz hesitates before entering and Simmons nods her head. It’s a signal between them to have a private conference. He squeezes her hand and she squeezes his back far too tightly.

“How is he?” he whispers.

“Still intubated, but he’s awake and following conversation,” she whispers back. “I fear he has a bit of pneumonia. I’m just so upset. I know he was depressed lately, but since you two were talking, I thought he was doing better.”

Fitz nods his head. “I’d like to see him before I visit my Mum.”

Fortunately, Coulson seems to sleeping when Fitz enters Medical.  There are assorted devices humming and beating in the background, and Coulson’s slow and steady heart beat drums away. A nervous Fitz looks at Simmons for reassurance and she gives him a friendly nod.

“Go,” she mouths.

So he does, wishing that he had some clue of what to say, what to do. He’s uncomfortable, as this scenario reminds him of when his Da was dying, and… how what needed to be said, had never been spoken. How Leo was sorry that he hadn’t been the boy that his father had wanted him to be, because Leo had been book smart and shy and queer while his Da had worked in the shipping yards like a proper man.

He sits next to Coulson, who naturally, doesn’t say anything.  He’s not sure what to do, where to place his hands, because he’s at Coulson’s bedside. Leo decides that if he was Coulson, he’s probably be cold and wishing someone would cover him with a blanket.  He straightens the blankets so the older agent is covered, but he ensures that his hand with the IV isn’t covered.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers his apology to the comatose man. “After all you have done for me, you reached out for help and I was too fecking self-absorbed. If you had died, I….” His voice breaks and Fitz is glad, so glad that Coulson can’t hear him, because he’s near tears. “I would never have forgiven myself.” 

To his horror, Coulson’s finger taps his hand. Coulson’s eyes are barely open but he’s shaking his head.

“I have to go,” Leo states. “Meeting with Mum.”

He leaves the room quickly even while Coulson tries to reach out to him.

* * *

Morna Fitz welcomes her son home in the traditional manner; with food. Sheppard pie and assorted comfort foods were waiting for him. They hug each other tightly and she kisses him because she has missed her only child desperately.  Then she looks at his eyes and shakes her head.

“Didn’t you bring your lady friends?” she asks. “That lovely Jemma…. And that other girl? Skye? With an E? She must be Scottish due to the Isle of Skye.”

“Mum,” he protests. “My lady friends are just **_friends_**. And Skye’s an orphan so she doesn’t know her background.”

Morna Fitz then shook her head in disapproval. “Then you should have brought her here so I could mother her for a bit.”

“Oh, Mum,” Fitz protests.  “Can’t I have some alone time with my favorite lady?”

That earns him an amused sniff.

“You could bring your guy friend, too.”  She easily offered as she’s never had any concerns about her son’s preferences. His father had tried to toughen him up, make a man of him, but his Mum had offered unconditional love. “I’d love to meet him.”

“No guy friend.”

His mother pouts. **_Pouts_**.  Because she loves and accepts all of Fitz’s few friends and she does want him to meet someone nice and settle down for her own nefarious purposes.  She does want grandchildren to dote upon, after all.

“What about that gentleman you have the crush on?” his mom asks.

“He made a pass, but he was quite drunk, so I put him to bed,” Fitz admits. He never should have told Mum about his crush but she had poked and prodded, and God help him, she had threatened to set him up on a date!

“Better that way as now he knows you have integrity.  You just continue to impress him with your brilliance and your abilities.” Morna decides and then she looks again at Fitz. “Eat, and then tell me what’s bothering you.”

She pushes the plate towards him. "All your favorites!"

Later -

“I was wondering, do you think your team would like a home-cooked meal?”  Morna asks when Fitz positively, simply cannot eat a single bite more. “I know that your supervisor is a foodie. Perhaps, I could serve him haggis with a good assortment of the local ales.” (Fitz had told his mother about Coulson’s failed attempts to have the team experience some rarefied dish in Singapore and how disappointed Coulson had been because everyone had decided to go to Sakae Sushi, a perfectly respectable chain restaurant instead).

“I don’t know,” Fitz admits, as well, the very thought of Melinda May sitting in his mum’s flat to tuck in haggis shatters his mind into a thousand brilliant pieces.

“It would be delightful to see Agent Coulson again,” his mother decides. “Saturday night then. I’ll make it very Scottish for him, not so much for the others.”

“Mum, Agent Coulson has been ill,” Fitz stammers.

“Then he needs a nice home cooked meal.”  The decision made, Morna Fitz will not take no for an answer.

“Mum, he’s fell ill last night, so I’m not sure if he’ll be up to dinner.”

“I’ll make soup then. My special cock-a-leekie soup,” she decides while Fitz panics at the thought of Coulson being served the whiskey-enhanced chicken soup. With the traditional prunes, no less. “It will take a while, so I’ll have it ready for tomorrow. So, six for Saturday?”

* * *

“I rather enjoy you like this,” Melinda May informs a heavily sedated Coulson.  “You can’t talk. Your hands are restrained so you’ll have to listen to me.”

A desperate Coulson, who wishes to avoid a Melinda May Emotional Pounding, fakes being unconscious. He fools no one, as May sighs as she sits next to him. She slides her fingers into his and she squeezes.

“You should have told me that you had hit rock bottom,” is what she says.  Phil shakes his head and May squeezes his hand once more. “I’ll keep an eye on the kids. I’m worried about the three musketeers. Fitz blames himself even though he’s the one that dragged you off the bottom of the river. Meanwhile Skye blames herself because she thought you were too quiet and Simmons… Simmons is pushing herself too hard. She’s not a medical doctor, Coulson, but she’s standing toe to toe with Streiten and Fury on your care. She’s also insisted on reading your binder, as she couldn’t understand why you didn’t share it with her.”

He shakes his head.

“She’s upset about what you did, that you didn’t trust her to let her know about your depression and the blasted binder; combine that with the fact that she’s on the verge of a physical collapse because she thinks she needs to prove herself to you.”

May is not surprised when Coulson turns his face to see her. She i ** _s_** surprised that his eyes are suspiciously damp.

“I don’t do comfort. I don’t do petty either, but Coulson, why **_didn’t_** you talk to me? Did you think I wasn’t strong enough?” When Coulson shakes his head, she asks, “You knew I’d stop you?”

Again, the head shake.

“What then?” she asks, even though she knows Phil’s answer. _Because after Bahrain, I thought this way would be the easiest for you._

“Excuse me, his vital signs have spiked, so I better curtail visiting hours,” Simmons interrupts.

May pokes him in the chest and hisses, “Think about what I said.”

The force of nature known as Melinda May storms away and Simmons smiles. The smile is strained, not her usual warm smile. “We had to restrain your hands as you tried to remove the tube.”

She places the back of her hand against his forehead. In a very professional tone, she explains, “You inhaled a great deal of the River which caused you to go into respiratory failure. There’s a risk of pneumonia, so I have to keep an eye out for that. We’ll try weaning you off the ventilator once you’re stronger.”

Simmons places her fingers on his wrist to check his pulse and he bends his wrist just so; enabling his fingers to brush hers.

Her professional façade fails and she leans over his bed. Her fierce tone is at odds with the tears in her expressive eyes, “I will kick your arse when you’re upright.”

He’s exhausted, no doubt helped along with some pharmaceuticals, so he manages to give her a thumb’s up of approval before he falls asleep.  

 


	7. 7

Floating.

It’s nice to float in a silent cocoon of dark warmth. He doesn’t have to do anything except float. Doesn’t even have to breathe as it is being done for him.

Floating’s….nice….the darkness embraces him and he relaxes into it. When he relaxes completely, he can see …. Stars… He gave his copy of “The Night Sky” to Jasper in remembrance of their long stay in Albania.  Too bad, there are some constellations that he doesn’t recognize.

Heaven has once again been denied to him, so he’ll take what he can get.

Pleiades. That myriad of stars is what he thinks is overhead, so he stares and floats.

-=-

“How’s he doing?” Skye asks Simmons. Then in a perplexed tone, she asks, “What’s he wearing?”

“Sound silencing headphones, plus I’m monitoring and regulating his brain waves using beta and theta wave therapy. He’s physically and mentally exhausted, so we think a deep, restorative sleep would help him heal.” Simmons makes a valiant effort at being chipper and upbeat but she’s exhausted. Her eyes are red rimmed and there are dark circles under her eyes.

“And how is  ** _Simmons_**?” Skye pointedly questions. “Physically and mentally exhausted. Should I take off his headphones and tell AC to move over?”

“In the same  ** _bed_**?” A brittle Simmons shrieks. She looks around and relaxes once she realizes that Streiten and Fury are not in Medical.

“Bit of a crush, eh? Don’t worry, you’re not the only one,” Skye admits. “So, I did some shopping while I was banned from Medical and I bought some things for Sleeping Beauty.”

She places the bag on the table, and pulls out a pair of big, ugly, green feet.

“Hulk slippers,” Skye explains. “Feet get cold fast. I have an Iron Man teddy bear and a fake plastic Thor hammer that squeaks when you smack it. When he wakes up, he can thwack it for attention.”

The hammer is vigorously demonstrated and it squeaks quite loudly causing Simmons to laugh for the first time in too long.

“And…..” Skye reaches back into the bag and pulls out a red blanket.  She unfolds it to display Captain America’s shield in the middle.  “I decided not to go with the Captain American pajamas bottoms or the Hawkeye foam arrow set. However, I did get him socks.”

Skye presents the socks to Jemma. They are quite positively the strangest socks Jemma has ever seen, as they have…. bow and arrows… on them.

“Ready for your mission, Agent?” Skye asks in her best Phil Coulson voice.

“Let’s do it.”

* * *

 

Fury storms down to Medical, barges in and stops dead at the sight of the still intubated Coulson. His shock might be from the very noticeable Hulk slippers. It might be the Captain America blanket, or the plastic Thor hammer that is on the stand next to the bed. More than likely it’s the Iron Man Teddy Bear complete with Glowing Chest Plate that is nestled under one arm.

“SIMMONS!” he roars. “Couldn’t find red hair dye?”

She tries to look innocent, fails and smiles.

“When is the tube being removed?” Fury asks.

“When he can breathe on his own,” she retorts.

“Which will be?” Fury asks.

“When he can breathe on his own. I can yank the tube out and ask him, if you’d like,” she puts her hand on Phil’s face and then announces, “Suction, Skye.”

She had thrown herself onto a grenade, had even jumped out of a plane to save her team. Standing toe to toe to Fury…. Possibly even scarier than jumping out of a plane, but she was the only one that could protect Coulson.

“I don’t think he’s stable enough, but on your head, ….. on the count of three…” she enunciates as she stares down Nick Fury. “One…”

The sound that Fury emits sounds is almost inhuman, but Jemma Simmons knows that the Fury monster has been defeated.

“MAY!” he roars as he sweeps out of the room.

“Oh my GOD,” Skye squeaks. “You were amazing. I almost believed that you’d do it.”

Simmons’ jaw drops. “No! I couldn’t! He’s not stable! But, do you want to sit with Coulson? I think talking to him would be a good idea.”

“What about the ears?” Skye asks.

“Mainly classical music. He was playing a CD in his office, so he’s listening to that plus the theta and beta waves…” Simmons stops and shakes her head. “I’ll wean him off the drugs…so he’s a little more aware.”

Simmons grimaces, as she revealed her secret.

“Hey, you’re being sneaky,” Skye whole heartedly approves. “And the best part is… you seem so honest. I’m rubbing off on you!”

“He needed to sleep,” Simmons insists.

“Keep the honest integrity. Makes people doubt that you’re lying,” Skye chirps.

* * *

“Let’s take off the headset,” Jemma announces. Coulson’s eyes are barely open but he is warily watching Jemma Simmons.  She takes off the headset and places it on the table next to the Thor hammer.

“Hi,” Simmons softly says to Coulson. “Do you promise to behave?”

Slightest of head nods.

“Your hands are restrained because I can’t risk losing your IV site,” she explains. “You need the antibiotics.”

Simmons leaves him alone with Skye and Coulson stares at his feet. The Hulk slippers are oversized and green and he’s quite confused.

“They’re slippers. I saw them and thought of you. Nothing worse than cold feet,” Skye chirps.  Then she turns serious, “Except for what you did. You’re the closest I’ve ever had to a father…”

She stops and wipes her eyes. “I can’t lose you, AC.”

Skye reaches for his hand, and squeezes it hard. “When I was fourteen, I tried. It’s why I wear the bracelets. Hides the scars. I did after I went back to the orphanage, because I thought I finally found a family who wanted me. I felt like I didn’t have anyone, anything who cared about me, that I was completely alone in the world.”

Coulson just watches her.

“You’re not, you know. You’ve got us, the team that puts the fun in dysfunctional. AC, I’ll tell Simmons to knock it off regarding the threats of kicking your ass. You don’t need that right now, you need to rest, regain your strength. You’d be incredibly proud of her as she is seriously terrifying the One Eyed Dude with the Leather Cape.”

Always proud, he mouths.

Skye smiles at him and their fingers remain entwined until he falls asleep.

* * *

 

Fitz enters the lab and shakes his head. “Mum is making Agent Coulson chicken soup. I told her that you’d need to approve. She’ll have it ready tomorrow.”

“That’s sweet that your Mum would do that for AC,” Skye says as she joins them. “I’m sure Simmons will approve.”

Simmons doesn’t approve, instead she shakes her head.

“How much whisky is she adding?” Simmons asks.  “She does have a heavy hand.”

“Not my fault, you’re a lightweight,” Fitz angrily protested as no one criticized his Mum’s cooking, especially Simmons who had three helpings of Scotch Mist.

“Your ‘Mum’ does whiskey chicken soup? I think I want to meet her as she sounds like such good fun,” Skye giggles. “What does she do for dessert?”

“Fruit and liquor,” Simmons explains. “With either cream or chocolate.”

“Meeting her!” Skye decides.

“She’s invited the team for a traditional Scottish home cooked meal on Saturday, so you can definitely meet her then. I don’t think Ward and May will want to come, but what about Agent Coulson?”  Fitz asks.

“Hopefully, we can extubate him this afternoon,” Simmons decides.  “He might be physically able to attend, but he may not want to go. After I…”

Simmons stops and looks at Skye. Her eyes are wary, as though she’s fearful of Skye’s reaction. Gone is the confident façade, instead, there is a wary tenseness in her hunched shoulders.

“I really didn’t want to go out,” she says in a very quiet voice. “I hid.”

In response, Skye slides off her multitude of bracelets, and points out thin, faded scars on her wrists. Simmons relaxes and the two women hug.

“Just stop threatening to kick his arse,” Skye requests when they finally break apart.

“It’s just more pressure, I know…” Jemma stops and then she begins shaking. “I am trying to protect him, but…  ** _Fury_**.”

“Simmons, you need to sleep,” Skye insists. Fitz murmurs his agreement and

“I don’t think I’m capable of keeping him safe,” Simmons admits before the trio is interrupted by May.

“Simmons, go to bed.  Coulson has enough issues that he doesn’t need guilt over your physical collapse.  Or you two. Go to bed, all of you,” insisted May.  “Get out.”

Simmons vainly protests, finally her protestations sputter to a halt. “Sleep. Now,” May adds. “Escort her back to her POD. I’ll wake you if he needs you.”

“But…” Jemma’s protests one last time.

“The nurse is here. She can monitor the displays and I will stay with Coulson.”

-

* * *

 

She’s about to sit with Coulson when Ward walks in. He hasn’t offered his opinion on recent events, but there’s been a noticeable strain between the two men for the last few weeks.  Coulson isn’t happy about her relationship with Ward, but he trusts her. On the other hand, he doesn’t trust Ward.

And she’s noticed that Ward seems to be jealous over her firm friendship with Phil.

Maybe because Phil is the only one on the Bus knows her as Melinda May and who had steadfastly refused to view her as anyone else. Certainly not the blasted CAVALRY.  While Ward…. Ward seems to be in awe of her. It’s ego-stroking to have a young stud like him…  _enthralled_ … with her but sometimes, she’s tired of the pissing contest between the two men.

“Any change?” Ward asks.

“No.”

“Streiten says once he’s off the vent, Coulson’ll be taken to the SHIELD office in Glasgow for a full psych eval to determine his stability.”  Ward has no people skills, none, which is part of his awkward charm when he tries to be suave and debonair in their couplings.

But the way he uses the term ‘stability’ deeply disturbs Melinda.

After Bahrain, far too people had used ‘May’ and ‘Stability’ in the same sentence for her to ever feel comfortable with someone using that word.  Or ‘equilibrium’.  Her distaste must be painfully obvious as Ward realizes that he has said the wrong thing.

“May, he jumped off a bridge,” Ward reminds her. 

She doesn't respond because there’s nothing to say.  Or can be said, as Ward is not in Coulson’s Inner Circle. He hasn't seen the pictures of Coulson in a body bag, hasn't physically counted out how many days Phil Coulson was dead, and hasn't needed to bite his lip to prevent himself from vomiting when he realizes that was Phil’s naked brain on display.

No context.

None.

Instead, she walks into Phil’s room and she stations a chair next to Coulson’s bed.

Yes, Phil Coulson jumped, but he is still Phil Coulson to her, always have been, always will be. Not Zombie Coulson, not Coulenstein, but Phil Coulson. Forever and ever, amen.

“I’m here,” she fiercely says.  “I won’t let them do anything to you.”

 

* * *

 

A/N - don't mean to Ward!Bash, so hope it doesn't seem like I am. however, of the team, he's the only one besides Skye who hasn't read the binder.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Jemma Simmons brightly smiles at a rather bleary Phil Coulson. "I'm taking the tube out. It's just us right now."

He nods.

"Don't panic," she says.

Again the head nod, so she continues talking to him while she ex-tubates him. It's an unnerving experience so he reminds himself, do not panic, that he'll be able to breathe soon enough. He's savoring…. Breathing… when Simmons smiles again.

"Hey," she says. "Welcome back, Sir."

"Sorry for the trouble." His voice is hoarse, probably from the damn tube. He grimaces at the wreck of a voice.

"Don't talk and your vocal cords will heal faster."

"That way you can take turns yelling at me," he retorts.

She tucks the blanket around him and she doesn't say anything for the longest time, then she softly says, "Phil, don't ever do that again. No matter how bad it seems, don't… do …it."

Her voice breaks and she sits next to him. Jemma surprises Phil when she entwines her hand with his.

"I used pills," she softly admits. "Even when I was young, I knew exactly how much to take, what to mix."

"I know," is all he admits.

"I know you know. You were the only Agent that even looked past that, and was willing to let me come out to the field. I know you have this ungodly need to protect, but I could and would have listened. Made you a proper cup of tea."

He nods.

"Promise," she requests.

"Won't do it again, promise," he rasps even while he squeezes her hand.

"Good. Fitz's mum made you some soup. We'll start with ice chips and work our way up to that. It's heavily spiked with whiskey, but I'm not supposed to know that. Open wide."

She pops in an ice chip and he sucks on it. Then he holds out his wrists, which are restrained to the bed.

"I know about Narobi, Switzerland and… Munich," she says. Phil grimaces as those were episodes where he had left medical against medical advice. "You're not leaving Medical, until I decide you're leaving Medical, not when **_Phil Coulson decides that he's leaving Medical_**. And Streiten and Fury won't be talking to you until I clear it."

"How will I be able to have the soup?" He smiles while he asks, as he foolishly believes that he has outsmarted her.

It's a good question, but Jemma produces a soup spoon and a wicked smile.

* * *

"Just broth for now," Jemma explains to Fitz. The Scottish engineer is sitting next to Coulson and he nods his head.

"You're still here?" Coulson asks his biotech agent. His voice is still hoarse and Simmons points her finger at him to protest him overusing his voice. "I thought your parents were planning a holiday to see you."

"I told them something came up," she admits. "They understand."

He feels guilty, because Simmons had been… bubbly… bubblier than her norm, due to her excitement over seeing her parents for the first time in far too long.

"Simmons," he tiredly protests.

"Don't you **_Simmons_** me," she protests. "I couldn't leave you."

"Jemma," is his next sortie.

She glares at him, a rather ferocious scowl, and Fitz pipes in, "You'll never win when she looks like that. Give up now."

"Well?" She says.

"Cold, so cold," he whispers, which causes her to stop looking as though she's about to give him the rough side of her tongue. Instead, she grabs a fluffy blanket… and then she shakes her head.

"That's **_cheating_**." There's no doubt that Coulson's sham has disturbed her sense of integrity but she tucks him in very gently.

"Old age and treachery beats young and brilliance every time," he quips.

She storms off and Fitz shakes his head. "She's still upset."

Coulson nods his head in weary acknowledgement about how he has royally fucked up everything and everyone.

"Is it really necessary to spoon feed me?" Coulson asks.

"With your background, yes," Fitz says.

The dirty look that Coulson bestows on him doesn't faze Fitz.

"Open up. Mum made it for you so she wants to have every drop. She also wants you and the team to come to dinner on Saturday if you're feeling up to it." He scoops some of the soup up in the spoon and brings it to Coulson's lips. "Don't make me sing the song my mum did to make me eat," warns Fitz. "I can't carry a tune."

Sometimes, it is best to acquiesce in order to keep one's dignity. And sometimes, an opportunity is too good to pass by.

"Let's hear it, Fitz," Coulson prompts.

Fitz mutters something that sounds like, "Git tae fuck, Coulson," and Phil shakes his finger at him for his bad language. Then, in a rather decent baritone, Fitz begins, "Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the puddin-race."

Coulson's face twists into a mock protest even while Fitz waves the spoon at him.

"That's BURNS," protests Coulson. "That's sacrilege!"

"Mum sang it to me," retorts Fitz. "Now shut your geggie, Coulson."

"Your bedside manner needs work," Coulson snips.

"I'm an engineer, not a doctor!" grumbles Fitz.

* * *

Ward and Skye watch Phil being spoon-fed by Fitz. After most of a bowl of soup, Coulson shakes his head and closes his eyes in exhaustion. Fitz puts the bowl down and carefully re-covers Coulson with the blanket. The weary Scot then leans back in the chair and rubs his eyes.

"Fitz's 'mum' made him this whiskey laced chicken soup," Skye explains. "The team is invited to a home cooked meal on Saturday. He doesn't think you and May would be interested, but the invite is open."

Ward nods his head.

"You haven't gone in to see him," Skye prompts.

"He was sleeping," Ward states.

He doesn't mention that he was grateful that Coulson wasn't in any condition to have a conversation. Ward knows that secrets are being kept from him, that it isn't surprising that Coulson shattered…. But that Coulson hadn't shattered… attempted suicide before now. He doesn't know why the Clairvoyant wanted Coulson so badly, but he is a soldier. He follows orders well, but he isn't happy about the lack of trust because if he doesn't know the truth how can he protect?

"What happened?" he asks, because if anyone knows, it would be Skye or Melinda… or Simmons… or Fitz… but not Ward.

Thankfully, she doesn't decide to recap what he knows, instead she looks away before she answers.

"Secrets have a tendency of compiling," she slowly says. "From what I can guess, when he was kidnapped, the secrets began unraveling. It just became too much for him. He didn't let anyone know that it was overwhelming him, the idiot."

There's a spark of tired yet compassionate anger in Skye's voice and then she sighs. "What happens now to AC?"

"Evaluation."

"They usually don't let Agents come back after a suicide attempt, do they?" She asks.

His non answer is enough to cause her effervescent personality to fade, but she still tries, "Then again, most Agents don't come back to life after being dead for days."

"Days?" He repeats.

"Days."

"That's impossible," he protests.

"Tell Coulson that," is her tired retort. "I'm sure it was quite traumatic."

* * *

Simmons permits Coulson enough slack on his restraints so he can tap away at a Stark pad. He's waiting for the other shoe to drop and it does. Fury storms into Medical and everyone, including stalwart Simmons flees the oncoming storm.

"What the fuck," roars Fury as he sits next to Coulson.

"Hello," Phil says as he hits 'send'. His expression is composed but a muscle in his jaw uncontrollably twitches.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Nick growls.

"My watch stopped at 11:20," Phil announces.

"And?" prompts Nick.

"They pulled me out of the water at 11:52," Phil explains in a very quiet voice. "I died, again, Nick. You've never asked, but it's beautiful there. It really is, however, I wasn't permitted to move on. Thanks to you. Seems you pissed off the Really Big Guy, so No Go, Cheese. DE-NIEEEED. Thank you, Nick for bringing me back."

Nick Fury says nothing.

"Don't have to worry. I won't do this again, because I'm here for the duration." Phil then begins clicking on his Stark Pad once more, as he's dismissed Nick Fury, instead of the other way around. For a wonder, Nick Fury slinks off like a defeated dog.

"And Nick? May was a smart idea to be my handler," Phil continues. "So, be honest to me, for once. Melinda May? Was our supposed friendship between the two of us something you created?"

Nick stops and states softly, "No. Not at all, when she heard you died, how you died, she was devastated. It wasn't a supposed friendship. It was and is the real deal."

And Phil Coulson wishes that he could believe Nick Fury, but he can't.

Not anymore.

Not after Tahiti.


	9. Chapter 9

After a day of further recovery, Phil Coulson is released from Medical to the loving arms of SHIELD psych, who poke his naked brain (watch it wiggle like jell-o) and he’s repeatedly asked the same question, just phrased differently in a hundred thousand different ways.

No, he won’t try it again.

 ** _Never_**.

They don’t ask why he came to that decision. They just chalked it up to him having learned something from his second.., maybe third… near-death experience.

Not that he learned the futility of actively seeking his own death.

For now, he’ll pick up the pieces, and reassemble his life. He’ll take care of his team and protect them, because no one else will. It’s a lesson learned the hard way.

He filled out various questionnaires; listened intently to their technobabble and promised to utilize the resources that SHIELD will make available to him (HELL NO). By the time he returned to the bus, he’s exhausted. For some reason, permission has been granted for him to sleep on the bus each night, probably because it’s the closest he has to a home.

He’s been invited to the dinner at Fitz’s flat, but he feels… odd… being there, being the proverbial crazy uncle if you will. He contacted Fitz’s mum, sincerely apologized for not being able to attend due to illness, and he asked if she minded adding two people to the guest list as a surprise. She’s thrilled to do so, but she agreed only on the condition that he attends.

“Fitz told me that you’ve been … a little down lately,” Fitz’s mum admitted. “So I’ll add three spots, for you and the two surprise guests. It’ll be a bigger surprise for everyone since you’ve already declined.”

He agreed only because it’s impossible to say no to Morna Fitz.

* * *

 

“You really should come,” Jemma Simmons insists even as the team prepares to leave for the dinner.

“I’m exhausted,” Coulson protests.

Her expressive face scrunches into a concerned frown, and he shakes his head, “Go. Don’t you dare think you need to mind me when you have a chance at a home cooked meal. I have your mobile so if I need anything I can ring you. Besides, May, can you point her to the car?”

Melinda May gently turns Simmons around and points to the loading ramp. “Time to go,” May says, not unkindly but matter of factly.

“Mum promised plenty of leftovers for you,” Fitz assures Coulson. “I wish you’d come, I mean even Ward’s coming.”

Ward pouts as he heard that comment.

“Tired,” Coulson lies. “Now go. Remember, pick up the flowers I ordered for your mother. Please send my regrets.”

The team leaves, finally, after May gives him the stink eye. She has been quite vocal about him ‘hiding’ in his office after recent events. He clads himself in armor, ok, his suit and then leaves the Bus. He has to embark on his secret mission.

* * *

 

Leo Fitz hates to admit that he’s nervous. Not so much Skye and Simmons meeting Mum, but Ward and May? It would have been easier if Coulson was here, as he was able to buffer and tame those strong personalities. Ward is abrasive at the best of times, and well, Fitz doesn’t want him to upset his Mum.

He knocks on the door and his mum is delighted by the exquisite blooms that Coulson had ordered as a hostess gift. It’s an example of how Coulson gets what makes people tick, because nobody else had thought of it. No, instead Coulson had announced that morning that he had ordered the flowers as he doubted anyone had thought of that. 

“Phil is just incredibly thoughtful,” she announces much to Ward’s confusion as well she’s Fitz’s Mum and Coulson is suddenly, unexpectedly PHIL. “We have a few guests that will be coming shortly, but for now, please introduce your team to me, Fitz. Though I think I can guess who everyone is. He tells me so much about you.”

“I hope he heavily edited it,” Skye verbally jabs Ward, who flushes.

Morna Fitz motions them towards the dining room where the table is set for nine.

“Nine?” Fitz asks. “There’s only six of us, Mum.”

“They’ll be here shortly,” she promises with a wide smile. “Jemma, it’s so lovely to see you again.”

There’s a knock at the door, so Leo’s mum announces that she’ll get it.

“Any idea who the guests are?” Simmons asks Leo.

“Might be my auntie,” Leo guesses.

Instead, it’s a familiar voice. “Hello, Morna. I’m not too late, am I? Traffic was pretty bad.”

“AC?” Skye questions while a puzzled Melinda May turns on a dime to face the doorway.

“No, no, you’re fine. Emma and Roger, did you have a nice trip?” Morna Fitz asks. “I haven’t seen you since the graduation and Phil, you shaved the beard.”

“I needed it then, not so much now,” he explains.

Simmons puts down her drink and she looks confused.

“It was a lovely trip, Phil was quite kind when he booked our flight,” a female said. “We usually travel steerage.”

“Your daughter is a highly valued member of my team as she’s the glue of the team. I had plenty of points, so I figured you both deserved the best,” Coulson explains.

There’s a rumble of laughter, but a stunned Simmons is moving toward the door.

“Mum?” Simmons whispers. “Dad?”

The various Simmons embrace tightly and Phil Coulson watches the reunion, while wearing a very crooked smile. He seems quite pleased with himself that he’s managed to pull this off. Then Jemma Simmons surprises Coulson by embracing him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispers.

“I thought I owed you since I destroyed the plans for your holiday,” he explains.

“That you did,” Jemma fiercely states, before she smiles.                                                     

In the living room, Melinda May permits herself to finally relax, as she finally believes that Coulson’s gonna be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for you for reading.


End file.
